Increments
by ChatLunatique
Summary: Starts during the Fellowship, a test in the fandom. I love this pairing, and grew tired of not finding enough of it. Updated, but sorry the second chapter is very short. I'll see if I can write more...
1. Increments

Increments

Boromir gazed around the circle at the various races and peoples, finding he reacted differently based on appearance. The dwarves looked shifty and cumbersome, the hobbits simply ridiculous, and the elves slightly pompous. He felt ashamed, or at least felt that he should be, and turned his head toward his feet. He'd heard so much about all the individuals he was seeing today, but somehow his world was still not wide enough to accept them all easily. He knew stereotypes were often founded in truth, though, and did not feel entirely guilty for his reactions. He lifted his head when he heard the discussion begin, and couldn't help glance around the circle, noting first the elves. They were fair, there was no debating it, and he found their similarity to himself a comfort in this foreign setting. One elf caught his eye, his hair light and eyes sharp. He possessed a poised intensity, controlled yet powerful, and Boromir felt drawn to him. He imagined him to be quite a fighter, despite his slight, graceful appearance and his elvish haughtiness.

"Bring forth the ring, Frodo." Boromir looked toward the hobbit, surprised to see him place a nondescript gold ring on the pedestal. He leaned forward in his seat, forgetting himself, eyes fixated on the ring.

"So it is true," He heard himself utter, unable to look away from the small pedestal bearing such immense power. "It is a gift, a gift to the foes of Mordor." Boromir rose, addressing the company. His eyes lingered on the elves and the wizard before turning back to the men, "Why not use this ring? Long has my father, the steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him." Boromir paced, appealing to the council as he spoke.

"You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answer to Sauron alone. It has no other master." A man had spoken, with dark hair, having altogether a different look than the other men present. Boromir faced the man he now recognized as the Ranger they spoke of and moved closer to address him.

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" Boromir stared at the man, his anger growing in his chest. He felt tension and movement behind him, one of the elves had risen.

"This is no mere Ranger." He turned to the elf, momentarily shocked to see it was the fair elf he had noticed prior, and found his intensity extended beyond his looks to his voice and countenance. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." Boromir took in the words, slowly turning from the fiery elf to the Ranger in question, his anger raging again. Why did this elf react so vehemently in defense of this man? Disbelief overwhelmed Boromir, tinged with a strange flare of jealousy.

"Aragorn. This is Isildur's heir?" He questioned the council, staring only at this usurper.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Boromir heard the blonde behind him speak, and heard the Ranger speak in Elvish to the being beyond him. Boromir turned slowly, watching the elf take his seat.

"Gondor has no King." He turned to the Ranger, noting a humility, a fear even, and spoke with daggers. "Gondor needs no King." Boromir took his seat, staring once again at his new enemy, who did not look away. He watched as events transpired, and once Elrond revealed the objective he could no longer remain silent. He spoke of Mordor, the hopelessness of the task at hand. To his surprise it was the same outspoken elf that rose and challenged him, causing a lick of fire to run down Boromir's spine. The dwarf insulted the elf and Boromir found himself on his feet interjecting, the elf's eyes drawn to him momentarily before the dwarf growled out insults. Startled and confused as the council exploded with fury Boromir turned to his side, then cast his eyes upon the grey-clad elf, impressed to see him holding his kinsmen back from the fight, even if he was on the verge of failure.

The old wizard engaged him and Boromir fought him, the idea was flawed, and he knew it. Hearing the hobbit he felt nothing less than sheer shock, and he soon watched as the most unlikely group formed around him. The stout dwarf joined after the fair elf pledged his bow, Boromir finding it somehow very fitting he was an archer. He noticed that neither looked pleased. Boromir resolved himself. He could not part with this absurd task, the ring, the brave hobbit; and found himself walking toward the group, eyes intent on the sharp-tongued blonde elf, and found himself pledging as well. He shivered as they all stood together, three more little ones having run in, the elf, clad in silver not grey, he saw now, directly to his right. He thought he could even smell something fresh, like young trees thrown on fire, or moss after rain, and was quite sure it wasn't issuing from the dwarf in front of him.

Boromir stood on his balcony and watched the flow of Rivendell. It was easy to see the appeal of the haven and he would never think to question the choice for an Elvish settlement. Birds flew from cliff to cliff, and occasionally he noted elves on nearby balconies. He could hear Elvish quietly sometimes. He found he didn't mind the language at all, it was quite beautiful, though he could understand not a word. The sun broke through the clouds and lit the valley, and his eyes were drawn to a nearby landing. Two voices had burst into the calm air and he immediately felt he was eavesdropping, particularly as it was Aragorn and the elf who spoke for him during the council that had appeared together. From their movements and exchanges it could easily be a fight. They did appear to be fighting he decided, as their voices continued to escalate.

They either did not notice him or cared not, perhaps knowing he could not understand them as they spoke only in Elvish. He heard what must have been a name, Legolas, by the way Aragorn used it. Boromir watched Aragorn pace. Legolas stood more resolutely still, the wind moving his hair sometimes, though otherwise his statue-like appearance made Boromir consider his age. As an elf he could be over one thousand, or practically any age, now that he considered it. He remembered his first impressions of the elf, exceptionally fair but intense. Legolas seemed different somehow. His stance held all the grace and control he witnessed earlier, but something had changed. Legolas responded to Aragorn and Boromir felt the strange jealously again, realizing now that the elf was less guarded, incrementally more relaxed. He didn't understand how the elf could be so controlled and still when Aragorn was so heated, and did not like watching the exchange, he realized. He turned inside to his quarters.

He sat on his bed, feeling the elaborate carving on the posts; he'd always admired fine craftsmanship. The real issue resurfaced in his head. He did not care for Aragorn, this was clear, but he worried over his reasons. Legolas was fine to look at and his spirit admirable, but Boromir could not understand his mind past this. It was like a shroud had been drawn around anything beyond the easily deciphered facts about the elf. Never had he given so much thought to a male creature, in such a way, and never dreamed he'd react this way to the immortal ones he had previously considered pompous and exclusive. He pushed upwards from the bed, walking to his personal items for the journey, grasping his horn. He could not abandon this journey now, and would have to face the issue or choose to run from it, creating dis-chord in the group almost certainly. He heard a noise in the hall and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. A knock on the door moved him toward it, hand near his hip, and opened it to see an auburn-haired elf.

"Lord Boromir, your presence is requested at the feast. It begins momentarily." She spoke in a quiet, even voice that would have been mousy on a human female. He thanked her and she departed quietly as he shut the door. He went to wash and prepare, thinking about her semi-submissive mannerisms. She had bowed her head to him, and her overall body language had resonated with supplication, now that he considered it. It unnerved him, this seemingly downtrodden elf. Perhaps it was too much to say downtrodden, but she was a stark contrast to the elves he had seen, and especially heard, at the council.

The finely carved doors of the hall were opened before him and the noises of the feast assailed his senses. The food smelled delicious, saliva flooding his mouth as he moved closer to the table. He heard his name and looked to the table to see a few guests staring at him, the little hobbits among them.

"A bit late? We managed to get here on time!" The thin-faced hobbit, who had a young countenance about him wagged his finger with a giant grin. Boromir noted the chalice of wine.

"Little masters, I feel you would arrive on time to your own execution if there was promise of fine food and finer company!" Boromir replied merrily, happy to see the guests who had heard laughing good-naturedly.

"Boromir, won't you join us?" He turned to the speaker, it was the Ring-bearer, Frodo.

"I'd be honored, that is, if there is food enough left for me."

"Hey now! You shouldn't talk to Mr. Frodo and the others like that! It's not fair." Boromir looked now at the stouter hobbit, his eyes making sense of this strange state of affairs.

"And who, may I ask, are you? His personal guard?" Boromir kept his tone light, his question genuine nonetheless.

"I'm Samwise Gamgee, and I'm his gardener!" He picked up his hand in what seemed to be an affirmative gesture, forgetting the food in it and spreading crumbs across the other hobbits.

"Blast, Sam, watch what you're bandying about!" The fourth hobbit had spoken, and Boromir took in his different countenance as Sam made apologetic moves. There was definitely something similar to all the hobbits, like distant relations in Gondor seem to have, but they each had very distinct characteristics as well. He must have been staring, because the little one spoke again. "I'm Merry. Meriadoc Brandybuck, actually, but no one says it. This is my cousin, Peregrin Tooke, but I'd reckon you call him Pippin, like everyone else." The thinner faced hobbit waved his wine at him.

"I'm grateful, Merry." With that Boromir sat down next to Sam, across from an elf seated next to Pippin, but who was inching away from the boisterous group. He could see Frodo to Sam's right, and noted his silence and attitude as quite different from the rest of the hobbits.

"Lord Boromir, Glad to see you joining us." Boromir looked at the regal elf, Elrond, who had come to stand behind him. He bowed his head in thanks.

"I cannot thank you enough, Lord Elrond, for your hospitality." He answered sincerely.

"You have more than answered my call today, Boromir, and I'm honored to offer my household to you." With that Elrond bowed his head slightly, and moved to a section of Elves. Boromir glanced at the hobbits around him, who were watching Elrond speak with his guests. He started to indulge in the feast before him and conversation crescendoed.

"Boromir!" Merry and Pippin were trying to teach him a drinking game.

"Slower lads! Slower...Ok...yes!" Boromir tried to join in, much to Frodo's amusement, and spilled his drink while laughing. He looked up and noticed the room was quieter than it had been, many of the guests having left. A group of elves, some blonde and some dark, all with piercing eyes, were watching the boisterous group. Boromir noticed one pair of blue eyes meeting his own quite intently, and was unsure how he felt as he recognized Legolas. He felt the hobbits sway and begin the game again, but he did not join them. Legolas' companions looked away, beginning their own conversation, but the piercing eyes did not leave Boromir's. He began to feel heat in his palms and chest as he stared at the elf, blaming the drink. Legolas gently inclined his head to the man, a gesture that could have easily been missed if Boromir hadn't been watching him intently. Momentarily stunned, Boromir lifted his glass and raised an eyebrow in response. Legolas' expression softened, or perhaps Boromir imagined it. He blinked and the elf was talking to his neighbor.


	2. Chapter 2

Ch 2

Wind rushing through leaves and into his open doors woke Boromir, soft sounds from the forest mingling with the sounds of elves in the corridor outside his chamber.

"We must wake him, I'm sorry. There is much to discuss." Boromir knew that voice. The reply came in Elvish, and Boromir threw off his covers as he moved towards the balcony, away from the discussion outside. He took a breath, feeling refreshed. His head did not ache from last night's spirits, and his body, previously weary from travel, felt young and agile. "No, no. Rouse him, if you insist. I'm going to speak to Elrond." Boromir recognized the weariness as belonging to the Ranger. He didn't sound pleased, and Boromir felt a moment of triumph. He was having a much better morning, it seemed.

"Lord Boromir." A knock accompanied the voice, strong and deliberate. He checked his appearance before he answered. He'd slept well in only light coverings, but it seemed inappropriate to greet someone in this state.

"One moment." He grabbed for a light bed cover, marveling at the fabric. It was like spun liquid, and it slid around his waist easily. He wrenched the door open, and was immediately glad he'd covered himself. Legolas stood before him. "I beg your pardon, Boromir. The Fellowship has been called to a meeting." He stared boldly at the man's face, into his eyes. Boromir was pleased to see the spirit of the elf he'd glimpsed the day before.

"Thank you, Legolas. I apologize for my appearance, and my unavoidable tardiness to the meeting." He looked at the elf, who was dressed more lightly than he was yesterday, he seemed to have removed an element of formality.

"No matter, it has not begun. Your -appearance- was expected." Legolas seemed to smile. Truly? That was not something he'd been expecting, and it was the first time he'd seen the fair elf seem amused.

"We have not been properly met, Legolas. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, of the house of Gondor's stewards." Boromir touched his chest and bowed just slightly. This seemed to please the elf.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, reigning King of Mirkwood." Boromir's breath hitched. A prince, then. Legolas touched his own chest, looking at the man.

"We are not so different, I think." Legolas seemed to think about that.

"Perhaps not, in the ways a man would consider. By elven reckoning we are quite apart. We shall see which perspective comes to bear, Steward of Gondor." Boromir noticed a shift in the elf's eyes, remembering again that his age could be far greater than his smooth skin and young grace.

"I'm looking forward to it, Prince." Legolas' eyes narrowed at that, but Boromir only smiled in reply. They stood on either side of the doorway as they took the other in, and Legolas seemed to deem the smile, and sentiment, genuine. He relaxed, incrementally. Boromir could have cheered. "I will join the Fellowship soon." He reached an arm to the door, his other hand knotting the linen around his waist. Legolas' eyes flickered there for barely a second. Boromir realized his skill with an arrow must be supernatural.

"Then I take my leave of you." Legolas only stared into his face before leaving, making no other gesture. Boromir was struck with the contrast of the subservient elf from last night, scurrying away from his doorway. The blonde hair moved easily on Legolas' back, his footsteps making no sound on the stone hall. He walked upright and proud, seeming to glide. Boromir smiled and shook his head.

He dressed quickly, splashing cold water on his face and shoulders. Aragorn had indeed seemed distressed. He wished now that he could understand the language of the elves.


End file.
